Chapter 4 Golf Games

Didn't I say I wasn't going to help Constantine out again?

I did.

I swear I did.

Yet here I was driving toward his new house with throw pillows filling my back seat.

My Range Rover purred softly beneath me as I wound through Dark Oasis. I had to bring the SUV today. My golf clubs were in the back because the girls wanted to golf afterward.

Eve lived in this neighborhood.

Unfortunately, so did Owen.

My inner voice immediately started screaming.

Note to self: don't look at houses here.

Ever.

I pulled into Constantine's driveway and parked.

Catori had been here all day arranging furniture for him like some underappreciated housewife from the nineteen-fifties.

I grabbed the pillows and hauled them inside.

In.

Drop.

Out.

Done.

Thank fuck.

Owen's truck wasn't in the driveway.

For the past week he'd been texting me.

I hadn't responded to a single message.

As far as I was concerned, Owen Wilson didn't exist.

A girl could dream.

An hour later I pulled into the golf club parking lot.

The girls were already waiting.

I climbed out and smoothed my khaki skirt before dragging my oversized golf bag from the trunk.

"Hurry up, Katia!" Melanie yelled.

"The guys are already out there," Nadia added.

I froze.

"What fucking guys?"

Eve grabbed my golf bag and shoved it into the cart.

"Relax. It's just the Markovic boys. Bogdan, Stefan, Luka, and Lazar."

"Fun."

I climbed into the cart.

"The Serbian mafia is joining us."

The amount of sarcasm in my voice could have killed a small animal.

The Markovic brothers were gorgeous.

And annoying.

Mostly annoying.

Honestly, I had yet to find a man who didn't irritate me eventually.

Freya, Catori's best friend, claimed I was a man-hater.

I wasn't.

Not all the time.

I certainly hadn't hated Lazar last year.

Not even a little bit.

Especially not during the brief period we'd entertained each other. Having a big Serbian asshole between your legs is an experience every girl should have.

Eve took the driver's seat.

Immediately I regretted every life choice that had led me to this moment.

The woman drove like she was escaping a bank robbery.

We parked near the first hole and dragged our clubs toward the group.

The guys stood in a loose circle laughing.

There was something incredibly funny about seeing tattooed gangsters dressed for golf.

Expensive polos.

Perfect khakis.

Designer golf shoes.

Like a flock of violent Easter eggs.

I was still smiling when they parted.

And there he was.

Owen.

Six foot six of aggravation.

Khakis.

Blue polo.

Matching me.

Like we were some disgustingly happy couple in a catalog.

New note to self.

Burn these clothes tonight.

His eyes found me instantly.

Of course they did.

Lazar looked between us but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Then he stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug.

"Nadia didn't tell me my favorite Pavlov princess was coming today."

He kissed both my cheeks while one hand settled against my lower back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Owen visibly tense.

Good.

Your turn, asshole.

"What are you doing here, Owen?" I asked.

Before he could answer, Lazar grinned.

"He's helping me find a house."

My eyes narrowed.

"Really?"

"Looking to move closer to you, beautiful."

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck.

"Let's play," Luka interrupted. "Katia isn't going to sleep with you again. That was a one-time thing."

The entire group burst out laughing.

Lazar flipped his brother off.

Meanwhile, Owen looked like someone had stolen his favorite toy.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The game started.

Golf and I had a complicated relationship.

Mostly because I approached it like baseball.

I absolutely murdered every swing.

The balls flew.

Usually in the correct direction.

Sometimes.

Melanie kept score while the rest of us suffered beneath the brutal Vegas sun.

The heat felt personal.

Like the weather had specifically decided it hated me.

Hours passed.

Every time I looked at Owen, he was already looking at me.

Every.

Single.

Time.

I couldn't figure him out.

What was his damage?

Eventually we reached another green.

I planted my ball and grabbed my driver.

Ready to send it into orbit.

"That club's too big for this shot."

Owen's voice broke my concentration.

I slowly looked over my shoulder.

"What would you know about something being too big?"

The grin that spread across his face should've been illegal.

"Considering something way too big swings between my legs..."

He took a step closer.

"Plenty."

I tightened my grip on the club.

If I wasn't wearing gloves, my knuckles would've been white.

I was approximately two seconds away from committing a felony.

"Is that in guy measurements?"

The Markovic brothers exploded with laughter.

Owen's grin faded.

A direct hit.

"Want to find out?" he shot back.

"No thanks."

I adjusted my stance.

"I'm not into gummy worms."

More laughter.

Even Melanie snorted.

I swung.

The ball rolled perfectly.

Stopping less than a foot from the hole.

The girls cheered.

Owen stepped closer.

Lazar looked ready to bite someone.

I ignored both of them.

"Damn," Owen murmured.

"You could handle it."

I turned.

And immediately slammed into him.

He was entirely too close.

His hands landed on my hips automatically, steadying me.

Every muscle in my body locked.

Heat shot through me.

I stepped back instantly.

Like he'd burned me.

"Don't fucking touch me."

His expression tightened.

"Calm down, Katia."

He ran a hand through his curls.

Luka started laughing again.

Probably because we looked insane.

"I am fucking done."

I shoved my club back into the bag.

"Anybody want drinks?"

Every Markovic brother nodded like a bobblehead.

Twenty minutes later we were sitting in the clubhouse lounge.

And I was miserable.

I couldn't relax.

Couldn't breathe properly.

Couldn't stop noticing Owen.

I hated it.

The second he entered a room, my entire nervous system went stupid.

Eventually I escaped to the ladies' room.

Cold water.

Deep breaths.

Silence.

Exactly what I needed.

I splashed water across my face.

Then headed back toward the lounge.

The second I stepped into the hallway, I collided with something solid.

Something warm.

Something that smelled infuriatingly good.

Owen.

God damn it.

The universe hated me.

We stumbled.

His hands caught my arms.

The next thing I knew, my back was against the wall.

I looked up.

Way up.

Those hazel eyes searched my face.

Suddenly every emotion I'd spent the last week avoiding crashed into me.

Confusion.

Frustration.

Attraction.

Heat.

Way too much heat.

His fingers brushed my cheek.

Gentle.

The complete opposite of the man I knew.

"Are you okay?"

His voice was soft.

Soft.

When had Owen ever been soft with me?

The smug grin was gone.

The teasing was gone.

For once there wasn't a joke hiding behind his eyes.

"You've been really angry lately."

He leaned closer.

Mint.

Whiskey.

Smoke.

The combination was intoxicating.

My pulse hammered.

Another inch.

Maybe two.

And his mouth would be on mine.

"Why are you being weird?"

His lips twitched.

"I'm being nice."

"Same thing."

His thumb brushed my cheek again.

His eyes closed briefly.

Like touching me hurt.

The ache low in my stomach intensified.

Get a hold of yourself.

"Fuck off, Owen."

I shoved him backward.

He let me.

Didn't argue.

Didn't tease.

Just leaned against the opposite wall.

Watching me.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?"

There was no arrogance in the question.

No humor.

Just honesty.

And somehow that was worse.

"You are my brother's friend."

The words came out sharper than I intended.

"Or did you forget?"

His jaw tightened.

For the first time all afternoon, he looked hurt.

Actually hurt.

I hated that too.

Before he could answer, I turned and walked away.

Fast.

Back toward the lounge.

Back toward people.

Back toward things that made sense.

Because nothing about Owen made sense anymore.

Not the texts.

Not the staring.

Not the way he touched me.

Not the way he looked at me.

I pushed through the lounge doors and stopped dead.

Because every single person at our table was staring directly at me.

And sitting in my chair—

Holding my phone—

Was Constantine.